Ipus Lotus
by Blanketspace
Summary: It had been months since his last visit, since she last saw tresses of golden curl tied neatly back and studious hues that captured both the sky and ocean. And when the door opens, she attempts to hide her surprise and feign a look of distaste but a sensation akin to a flood washes over her. [Post-Crystal Stasis Aruani. Spoilers abound. ]


**characters**: armin arlert & annie leonhardt  
**pairing**:_ Aruani_  
**rating**: Mature, NSFW, kinda PWP  
**word count**: 2047  
**notes**: set in the post-crystal stasis arc that I'm having with an Armin RPer, Annie has a penchant for needing to be looked after. In more ways than one. disclaimer: I do not own a single character from Shingeki no Kyojin. This is merely for fun and I make no claims to this series.

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Passing time in captivity had become a tiresome activity, finding new ways within her constraints to amuse without the prospect of hanging herself from the rafters. Not that they would have garnered her any rope to begin with but the thought had still been there. And yet the walls drive her mad in a way, giving her cause to dig into her own flesh without purpose, to thrash her form against stone, and howl in banshee shrill timbre. At least for attention causes, refusing to eat and heckling guards in the sickest of manners – subtle and already vocal.

It had been months since his last visit, since she last saw tresses of golden curl tied neatly back and studious hues that captured both the sky and ocean. And when the door opens, she attempts to hide her surprise and feign a look of distaste but a sensation akin to a flood washes over her, filling her mind and form with a touch of glee that she cannot begin to utter upon her tongue.

"—Annie." She hears him start, her body already fumbling a few steps to give him a wider berth of movement.

Such rules had been established over their time together, to keep her distance if only for both of their safety. Her gaze moves towards the floor of the shabby cell she's locked in now, flickering towards bed and basin alike before focusing on the shinny leather of his boots. He's gotten taller since they've last talked or so she assumed by the strides he takes.

He crouches before her within moments, setting a clipboard and book down off to the side. Taking stock of her like this had become a habit, registering changes in age or in sanity, just a life status. Whether it was for his own intrigue or that of his superiors, she cares not. It's within seconds that his eyes catch the damaged sight of her hands and she curses sweetly under her breath at being so careless in her own anxious boredom.

"Look what you've done… These'll need to be cleaned." His hands are much larger than her own now, dwarfing the expanse of her palms in his own as he inspects the ground meat that her hands had become from rutting into the stone. Disappointment etches across his features, thicker fingers running across broken nail and cuticle, before gingerly ghosting over bruised and torn knuckles smeared with blood and haphazardly healed wounds.

Keeping her hand in his own, she feels her body tugged upwards from a strength of a man grown. "Here. Get undressed, I'll run you a bath." Not an offer, a command and she's not to argue with him, not as he release her with a troubled groan and walks over to run the tap.

Quaking, she listens for once, brooking no argument before deftly removing what clothes had been provided to her. Robbed of her jacket and belts, the female shifter had the barest of garments provided to her. A simple shirt and trousers, nothing that could honestly conceal or prove as armor in a fight. And she felt horrid removing them, the only thing she had left between the novels that he had brought her (she finished them all within a few days) and the stories she had heard guards tell in passing.

With a grunt of affirmation, she sheds layer after thin layer, unabashed before him. Any modesty she may have had before the personal fall was gone, almost poetically in it's morbid descent. He had seen her upon a slab, aiding his superior in the proverbial dissection of a woman he once knew and called friend. Healing had been difficult after that, silver scars worming across her belly and hips as a cursed reminder that she was nothing more than a lab rat to some. Though the tests had stopped in the recent months, she still runs her hands over the sickly milk colored markings in fascination.

And he catches her doing so when he turns to face her, gesturing to the bath with a solemn gaze in his eyes. Does he feel shame to look upon her? The handiwork that mars her body now or is the simple idea that she's a woman, nude and brazen as she approaches him? She notices no blush but that does not deter to the languid stride of thicker legs, the delicate sway of rounded hips, and the aloof expression that she guards herself with as she finally moves before him, staring up into the stern visage that fails in acting cold.

Lips quirk somewhat, a glint of amusement harboring on her face as she moves to hook her hands against the grooves of his shirt. Temptation for touch and for something other than this stagnant air between them. Never had they been this close before, even in the haze of a liar's friendship, and yet a longing lingering beneath her skin. He allows the roam of her hands until they touch skin, smearing a bloodied mess of sinew along the white of his shirt and the cream of his collarbone before it's halted, finally registered her intent as ill and desperate.

"Don't," his voice is a warning as her fingers slip against the lapels of a white oxford shirt, tugging at the buttons if only to tease before her hands are grasped by the wrist and yanked away, lips pouting. She ignores the look of annoyance that he casts her, tongue clucking upon the roof of her mouth as she relents whatever perverse amusement decided to take her in wistful revelry.

A sigh parts from her coral lips, nose crinkling. "I can bathe myself you know," comes her growl, parting from him and already toeing into the basin filled with lukewarm water, overflowing simply from the distribution of mass. Water frothed with soap sears her ruined skin and she reaches down to grab at the wash cloth, passing it over her shoulder to hand it to him, like clockwork.

Rustling with noise, she hears him sit directly behind her by the drag of a stool and soft puff of air from the modest exertion. "I know. But I can't risk you hurting yourself again when you can't even heal. It seems the lack of sunlight, like other titans, does have an affect on your abilities."

Hands are already untying her hair, allowing sunflower locks to fall neatly across her bare shoulders. "— I'm also not trying to transform," she adds, casting a slight look over her shoulder to drink in the expanse of his face, noting the small bit of stubble forming across a hardier jawline. Teeth find her lip and she bites down for a moment, letting out a pleased noise as a rough washcloth scrubs across her arms.

It's the barest murmur that she notes, wriggling against the feel of terry cloth scraping pleasantly along her flesh. "I appreciate that." Of course he does.

And he's careful to wash her, attentive to pour over her in the way he would with books or maps, making sure to follow each line of muscle, pausing only to careful rub across the scars that he's caused and the sloping curves of her body. The cloth dips between her breasts and she hums in contended being, arching her chest.

Damnation flounders in her as she feels the graze of his thumb over the full swell of her breast and she knows his focus has shifted with each mewl and purr rumbling in her throat. It's only when she feels his free arm strap across her shoulders, keeping her back pressed against the curve of the basin that she knows her movements are effective in their sinful intent.

"Stay still." Wet cloth trails along her ribs, slipping over the soften skin of her belly and his heat radiates across her shoulders as his body moves to cover her own only sparsely, to garner more of a ground without the fear of toppling over

Her challenge issues itself in a murmur, rolling hips as the thick of his hand swipes across the generous berth of thick hips."Or what?" With a playful timbre, she laughs airily only to gasp as he doesn't cease his trek or intent to wash along her legs submerged in soapy water, running ragged along the swell of skin atop her thighs and downward, all but hiding intentions to call a bluff never issued.

"You know what," his nose presses into her hair and the heat of his breath against her hair gives her reason squirm. She almost misses it, the crafty brush of fingers instead of cloth against her skin, a will-o-wisp's intent against the curls of her womanhood but it's there and evident beyond all measure, causing her skin to grow hot just from the simple idea of it. And to say that she had never imagined him doing such a thing to her was a lie, blatant and sordid in meaning, but to the extend that she writhes and gasps beneath callused fingers strumming playfully betwixt her legs.

The washcloth is all but forgotten as it runs across the inside of her thighs in memory and attentions is ripped back to the teasing at literal hand. She speaks his name and she's hushed immediately, the press of lips against her hair distracting as a hand skirts against her inner thighs and folds evenly. "Tell me to stop," comes his growl, breathing heavy against her skull.

"No, please don't stop, " is her answer as she mewls, lungs already pained from the beginnings of a pant. And that seals it, her fate, and his driven purpose…

There's no time really spent, no question that can fall from her mouth as the press of fingers inside of her all but steal words from her lips, coiling a pleasure lust inside. Is he doing this to prove a point? To quiet her down, no doubt, to satiate that beast the roams underneath her skin for lust and desire. And she does nothing to resist, slipping her legs open a bit with the slow part of her thighs and the contrast is blissful between the water and him.

Bowing her back against the porcelain curve of the tub, water sloshes about a shivering form as a pelvis buck wildly, pleading for harsher contact. Those damnable fingers of his, she can feel as the gentle pump inside of her continues, teasing and not nearly there, and it gives her cause to groan and shift though the arm strapped across her shoulders ceases most movement and the lips on her ear tell her be a good girl in so many words.

His name is a benediction on her lips, a chant of any kind as he strums her perfectly. It's idle though between the thrash of her body and the slosh of water over the tub's rim if he enjoys this, if the warmth of his body is almost too much for him to take, if the way that she purrs and cries coils something in the pit of his being.

There will never be an admittance, she knows, rules and regulations already fragmenting as she feels the brush of his thumb against the bundle of her nerves between folds and giving her cause to shriek aloud. A hiss of pain skirts out of her mouth when she fights against the clamp of teeth down on her ear, a strained command for her to keep quiet.

Oh, she wants more. Something thicker, harder, to know that he feels this want the same way that she does. To know the heat of his body pressed against her own, to feel that tongue which spins words against her body as his lips leave tickling traces of lips and desire. She wants to claw her nails into his skin and feel the grip of his hands on her hips, demanding purchase and pleasure from her body.

Electric current thrums through her views and splotches take behind her eyes as she coos and cries out, bucking against his fingers in animalistic nature. She tumbles swiftly as her skin sets itself aflame and ecstasy floods with intent to drown her in the idea and feel of him, words and wants spilling from her lips of affection and desire, as her nails bluntly paw at the bottom of the basin and she breaks against his hand over and over.

A shrill noise leaves her throat, a groan that harkens into the pit of her belly and lower as she dips into a blurry fatigue, a buzz careening in the current of her blood in slick pulses against her legs. Her head lolls against his shoulder, feeling the slip of his fingers from inside of her to draw soothing circles against the inside of her thighs.

It's almost blissful and perfect, she muses, how easily she's swept into a lull by this former boy of her memory, thoughts reeling of anything but her past transgressions.

... _Armin, I love you._

"What?" _Oh no. _

"…Did I say—"

"Annie… You don't mean that." _Armin, don't… _

His hands remove themselves from her body like a man burned and she has barely any time register the quick retreat. Weakly, her hands grip the side of the basin, slipping in their intent to pull her still trembling body out of the water but his voice stops her.

"… You can finish bathing yourself. I left anoth—"

She interrupts quickly, "— Armin." But it's easy to ignore a woman wanting, desiring to explain and reason.

"I left another book for you to read. I'll try to come down to see how you are in a few days but I'm not making any promises. "_ No, no, please don't go… Please don't leave again. _

"Armin, I… " She's frantic, pressing pruned feet against the walls of the basin to lift herself somewhat.

Icy is the glare that he shoots back at her, the normally soft features of his face gone along with the flush that took to his high cheekbones moments ago. He snarls, almost, at her, at her pathetic plea and wild eyes that undoubtedly replay memories of their broken bond. "—Annie. Don't start." Tapered fingers are already at the door's lock, swinging it open with ease and purpose, and his body moves deftly and without another word.

It's only when the cell door closes behind him that she finally notices how frigid the water has become.

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A/N: Well I hoped most of you enjoyed this, obviously this is post-crystal capture Annie. R&R if you'd like, I'd really appreciate it.


End file.
